


Nails for Knives

by LesbianLoser



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Academy, Banter, Bickering, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hickies, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Canon, scratches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianLoser/pseuds/LesbianLoser
Summary: Clove leaves behind some scratches on Cato's back for his friends to find. He gets her back later.
Relationships: Cato & Clove (Hunger Games), Cato/Clove (Hunger Games)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

The metallic bell rang, interrupting Cato’s sparring match. 

“That’s time,” barked Dirk, the Academy’s head long-blade instructor. “It’s four. Wash up and go home.” Cato and his peers quickly stowed their weapons, hoping to escape the larger man’s wrath. They weren’t fast enough to avoid all of Dirk’s abuse. “I don’t want to see anymore laziness, children! You’re all off your game. Get out!”

The young men fled to their locker room, the older ones more out of annoyance than fear. 

Cato, being one of the eldest boys and the most skilled, swaggered his way to the showers, hoping to get in early so not to keep Clove waiting on their walk home. He hadn’t seen the girl since lunch, as the afternoon was reserved for skill training when they were split into long and short blades. 

He was eager to walk home with her, mostly because he got to tease her about her performance that day, not that it was ever anything less than perfect. 

They’d had the same post-training ritual for years. Since Clove’s mother died and her father abandoned her when she was nine, she had been living with Cato’s family. As best childhood friends, the constant sleepover was fun, but the excitement only increased as their relationship grew romantic. 

Cato’s shower was quick. The water was cold and weak and the other Trainees were waiting for their turn to wash the grime and sweat off their skin. He shut the water off and wrapped a rough, threadbare towel around his hips before walking down the gray aisles of lockers to find his own. 

He felt eyes on him as he passed, but that wasn’t unusual; he had put in the most training out of any of the boys and had gained an impressive muscle mass. He reached his locker next to that of his friend and sparring partner, Chase. 

“Nice scratches there, man,” Chase commented with a smirk, brushing his auburn hair out of his eyes after removing his shirt.

Cato, hoping to put on a fearsome front in the presence of the other other boys who saw him as a rival, grunted and turned to Chase.

“What scratches,” he asked gruffly as he put on his briefs and removed his towel.

“The, uh, claw marks on your back,” Chase replied, stifling a laugh. 

The blond boy’s eyes widened minutely, and he turned his back to the scratched mirror mounted on his locker door to glance at his own back. Lo and behold, red and pink gouges traced their way from his defined trapezius muscles to his lower back. There was another messy set of tracks that ran around his mid-back, as though someone had tried to rip his skin at his spine.

“Dammit,” Cato breathed quietly, knowing that Chase and the other boys had seen the lines and were formulating their own, likely accurate, theories as to their origin. 

Chase was quick to make his theory known. “I’m guessing Clove got to you.”

Cato’s relationship with the small girl was no secret. They were never too publicly affectionate; they preferred their privacy and would only ever dare be soft in confidence. However, their playful taunting and fighting banter left many Trainees to suspect their relationship went deeper than their facade of good friends.

Trusting Chase’s loyalty to him, Cato spoke in a low voice. “She files her nails into knives, I swear to God.”

Chase let out a small laugh, not wanting to invoke Cato’s temper, as the blond boy put his shirt on, covering the marks on his back. Cato collected his things and said a quick goodbye to Chase before rushing out of the locker room. Though most of the boys saw the marks as Cato exited the shower, none dared to comment as he left.

Clove was waiting for him outside of the Academy doors with her eyes closed. Though she had her constant air of nonchalance and superiority, he could tell she was enjoying the afternoon sunlight, basking in it like a cat. At the sound of the Academy doors, she opened her eyes and turned to face her boyfriend with a raised eyebrow. 

“Took you long enough,” she said dryly, but a small smirk graced her lips. 

“I got a bit caught up,” the taller boy growled as he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand to her face. “Your handiwork caught some eyes in the locker room.”

Her smirk grew into a full grin as she quickly picked up on her boyfriend’s meaning. “I can’t help it! And you definitely didn’t seem to object when I made the marks.”

Cato’s glare didn’t soften at that, but his head did tilt and his eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Your claws are dangerous. You do that on purpose.”

Turning away from him, Clove began down the Academy steps to head home, confident that the tall man would follow her. “I like them sharp. They’re like built in weapons.”

Cato was quick to catch up to her and grabbed her hand roughly, a subtle way to show her his affection while keeping his demeanor in character for any passersby. 

“No need to use those weapons on me,” he muttered, though she readily had a response. 

“You like it.” 

His only response was a quiet grunt and a raise of his chin. She was right, of course, but he wouldn’t let her know that outright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a sequel. You think Cato would let her get away with those scratches?

The clock hit four and the Academy bell rang out. Reluctant to stop training quite yet, Clove decided to stall by launching another few sets of knives at the targets 30 yards away. She knew Cato took longer to change than she did, and she wanted the extra practice, not that she needed it. 

It was well established that Clove was the best Trainee in the short-blade division. Her impeccable aim and range meant Trainers rarely had to correct her and Trainees knew to stay out of her way.

After another dozen knives were embedded in the target’s chest, a Trainer Clove hadn’t bothered to learn the name of approached her and told her to change. After all, the Academy wasn’t liable for anything that happened past four, and if Clove had the urge, it wouldn’t be the first time she had used that rule to maim someone without consequence.

The small brunette stalked her way into the locker room where the other female Trainees were already in the midst of changing. She strode to her locker, making an effort to make harsh eye contact with anyone who looked at her. 

Clove had never liked the other female Trainees, especially not as they all got older. Since joining the Academy, most of the other girls had grown taller and developed curves that the male Trainees seemed to chase. 

Clove, however, had hardly grown since she entered the Academy, reaching just over five feet. She was naturally lithe and flat-chested, and her more-rigorous-than-average training schedule provided her no extra padding. She had no qualms with her body as long as it was lethal, but Trainees or not, the young women could be ruthless. Especially since many of them lusted after the small girl’s boyfriend.

Because of these insecurities, the brunette always chose to skip the post-training shower and wash up at home.

She opened her locker situated in the rear of the bland room and began changing. Once she had gotten on a less sweaty shirt, a taller girl bounced toward her. Clove knew her as Helen and, though they rarely talked, she was as close to a female friend Clove had in the Academy. It was a friendship based on respect; Clove may be the best Trainee in the short-blade division, but Helen was the best in blunt weapons, especially her mace.

“Hey girl,” Helen exclaimed in her usual bubbly way that made Clove’s eyes roll. “You were killing it at hand-to-hand this morning.”

Never one to decline a compliment on her skill, the brunette’s chin tilted up and thanked Helen curtly. The taller woman leaned against the row of lockers as Clove took off her training shorts in favor of gray sweatpants. 

Before she managed to redress her lower half, Helen’s eyes drifted to Clove’s legs and stifled a laugh, drawing the brunette’s attention. “Yes,” the short girl asked accusingly.

“Oh nothing,” Helen laughed off sarcastically, before switching to a more subtle whisper. “It’s just that your thighs are covered in hickies.”

Failing to hide her surprise, Clove turned to the full length mirror on the opposite wall, taking in the sight of her inner thighs littered with red and purple bruises. They sat high enough on her legs that her training shorts would cover them up, clearly the intention of their creator. 

Clove muttered a quick “fuck” before putting on her sweatpants, gathering her stuff, and striding out of the locker room, ignoring Helen’s burst of laughter.

When she exited the doors of the Academy, Cato was already waiting for her, uncharacteristically early and with a cat-like grin on his face. 

“Something keep you in the locker room? Catch you off guard,” he asked knowingly.

She responded with a slap to his face. It was half the strength of her normal slaps, so Cato had no reason to believe she was actually mad. She started to walk off towards home and he stalked after her.

“It’s called payback, princess,” he whispered in her ear, answering an unasked question. 

She simply shooed him away, a tiny smile on her lips as she recalled the marks she left on him the week earlier. “You smell like shit. Did you take a shower?”

Cato shook his head. “I wanted to see your reaction when you came out. But I’m pretty sure there’ll be room in the shower at home, if you wanted me to join yours,” he said flirtatiously. 

“Not a chance,” the small girl replied with a laugh, though she knew he’d insist the whole walk home and she wouldn’t shower alone that night.


End file.
